Time Is Running Out
by CassanderRoshack
Summary: Something has happened to London. Zombies are roaming the streets and Sherlock sends a desperate text to John, hoping he hasn't been turned yet. John gets it in time but soon discovers what Sherlock was so worried about. Will the consulting detective have time to save his friend before it's too late for them both and London is in ruins? Johnlock/Slight MyStrade *Short Zombie Story


_John, I need to know where you are. –SH_

_Lloyd's bank, why? –JW_

_Lloyd's bank? When did you- never mind. Do you have a television there that can connect to a news broadcast? Has it come there yet? –SH_

_I don't understand, Sherlock. I'll ask the help desk when I get there. Wait a moment. –JW_

_NO. –SH_

_Anyone could be infected. Stay away from human contact. I'm on my way to pick you up. –SH_

_Sherlock, what in the Hell are you talking about? –JW_

_I'm serious, John. If it's only one thing you do your entire life, trust me this once. People are attacking each other. I'm borrowing a vehicle. Don't go outside. I'll be there soon. –SH_

_Sherlock… there is a man beating his head against the window outside. –JW_

_It's there. RUN. Find a place to hide. I'm almost there. –SH_

xXx

John looked up at the room from his phone. The bank had been busy and alive with people minutes ago but was now silent and most were gone. Those remaining were staring at the man breaking his head open on the window. John's head swiveled around the room before he slowly walked towards the bathroom; trying not to attract attention to himself. Restrooms had the hardest surfaces if he needed to defend himself from whatever was going on. Yet before he could make it completely to the bathroom, a scream ripped through the air from behind the bank's main desk. Immediately following, the remaining people in the room started running away screaming from something he could not see from where he stood.

Without pausing to get a closer look until he was inside the bathroom, he peeked out through a crack in the door to see the people who had been with him in line before... were now being attacked by the bank manager. Others were bleeding from multiple wounds; while more poured from the office upstairs to bite and claw at those on the floor. His eyes widened and he pulled his phone back out, using the other hand to flick the lights off in the bathroom.

_Sherlock why are people attacking each other?! What the Hell is going on?! –JW_

_I don't know, John. I don't know. Lestrade is trying to organize people. The whole city is going insane. People are eating each other. Stay out of the way as best you can. If anyone tries to attack you, aim for the head. –SH_

_Aim with what?! I'm not armed at all! –JW_

_Use what you bloody have then! I'm turning the corner. This may be the last time we_ speak. –SH

Sherlock shoved the phone into his pocket. The car he had technically stolen instead of borrowed swerved around the corner towards the bank. He saw the mob outside the Lloyd's building and revved the engine; gunning it as he ran over what- or who- ever was blocking the door. He would not let anything stand in his way. Driving over enough of the humans drooling and moaning he effectively blocked the entrance with the car, he climbed out the side door of the car and closed it before searching for John. Blood splattered the carpet of the bank and there were a few people- or what once were- who milled around with skin or organs hanging from their lips. And they thought his experiments were gory.

The anecdotes began popping up like wild fire. Easy to defend. Back exit. Army doctor. Easy to defend. Hard surfaces. Water for long term. He looked over at the bathroom and walked silently towards it. From what he had noticed they could not see very well, but their senses of smell and hearing were apparently still keen. One of the things seemed to notice him and came running. The consulting detective stopped short and let the thing run past him- smacking into the wall beside him. He went towards the bathroom again like it was the slowest fifty meter dash he had ever participated in. The other zombies milled over to the fallen one- but instead of feasting on him, looked for the source of the sound he had just made.

John had taken a wrench from a toolbox that had been thankfully left in the restroom by the janitor. The little window on the secondary door had things beating on it; trying to get into the bathroom. Trying to get to him. He heard something moving towards the door and almost panicked in the dark. 'Zombies couldn't use doorknobs, could they?' he asked himself as he positioned himself near the door. The body hit the door and bounced off at first. He thanked God locks were strong when the body hit the door again and whatever it was came in and slammed the door behind it. John slapped a hand over his mouth and moved back; hoping it could not smell him. He held the wrench out and it whispered, "John?"

His knees almost gave out at hearing Sherlock's voice. "Sherlock!" He gasped out and felt the taller man immediately go to him.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. "Are you all right?" He looked around in the dark before using his cellphone light to locate the back door. "We need to leave. Mycroft has a plane waiting for us."

John rubbed his temples. "I'm freaked out, sure, but in all cases fine. What in the bloody Hell is going ON Sherlock?" he whispered. Then he stopped him from going towards the door. "They are right outside." John offered when Sherlock looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"That complicates things.…" He returned to the original door and peeked out much like John had done earlier. "I told you. I don't know. This isn't… isn't possible- what's happening to these people. Unless…" He trailed off with John holding the wrench like it was a lifeline behind him. Sherlock shut the door and looked at him. "A virus. It spreads through contact with these things. I doubt it's airborne because we would have been infected already." He steepled his hands in thought and John swallowed upon hearing something from the stalls.

"Are we trapped?" he asked as he heard the movement again.

Sherlock was too busy thinking to hear it. "No. Iif we can get to the roof we should be able to make it."

John chose that moment to panic as something grabbed his leg. He screeched, "Jesus fuck!" Then jumped nearly half a foot high and flung himself at Sherlock. The taller man pulled out a gun and shot the thing that had grabbed his flat-mate. Using the cellphone, he got a closer look at it.

"Did it bite you?" He saw that the beast- once male- was missing its lower legs.

"No- no." John whispered and Sherlock turned towards him. He took him by the sides of his face.

"Calm down. You were in the army. Being frightened will not get us out of here alive."

The doctor nodded. "I never had to fight zombies in the army.…" he muttered before drawing a deep breath. "Let's just get to the roof."

Sherlock took his arm in his hand and poked his head out the bathroom door again. "Thankfully, this building has an elevator to the roof." Sherlock pulled John with him out the door. "Stay close and keep quiet." One hand slid down to grip John's now in an effort to soothe his shaking. The other had a firm grip on his weapon. John stayed as close as possible; noticing many of the people that were with him had been completely eaten or dragged off with bloody trails left behind them. They stopped short at the elevator with the zombies milling towards the bathroom. Sherlock hit the button repeatedly as he looked around the room. It was completely silent and eerie except for the moaning outside. There were hundreds of people pushing up against the glass of the building.

"Sherlock… the glass… what if it breaks?" John whispered to the taller man who was slack-jawed at the sight. He cleared his throat.

"Hopefully, we won't be around when that happens." The elevator doors pinged and he turned back towards it as he heard the first sound of cracking. The doors opened up and a half eaten woman fell out on top of Sherlock. The man almost jumped out of his skin but the woman was not alive or even undead. John got the thing off Sherlock and helped him into the elevator. As he hit the close button on the door more cracking was heard. Once the doors slid shut, the smaller man almost broke the roof button from slamming it so hard.

It was Sherlock's turn to be scared. His eyes were momentarily dilated from the shock but John pressed himself to the other's side. "Breathe, Sherlock. Breathe," he muttered and the other calmed considerably.

"I'm perfectly fine, John. Fine." Clearing his throat again, he shifted his gaze to the blood pool they were standing in.

"How are we going to get off the roof?" John asked, trying to change the subject.

Sherlock smirked down at him for a moment. "Though I find it ironic to say this, we are going to clearly have to jump."

His flat-mate looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Not funny."

Sherlock snorted. "I wasn't trying to be." The elevator door dinged again and this time Sherlock had the gun raised in preparation for any more surprises. They still had not released each others' hands. The doors did not open to the roof as he expected but to a darkened floor, with only one light blinking in the back. Moaning filled the room and those inhabiting it all rushed towards the new light. John kicked the close doors button when Sherlock threw them to the back of the elevator area. He shot the closest one and she fell; the doors shutting as her hand tried to keep going. "This is not how I planned this day to go."

John looked up at him before shaking his head. "I doubt anyone did." After a moments pause and the stupid elevator music finally stopped playing, he looked at Sherlock again. "Just in case, I love you, by the way."

The other nodded. "Good to know."

John furrowed his brows at him and snorted indignantly. "You know, when someone is in this situation, they normally have a moment when they-!" His sentence was cut off by Sherlock's mouth covering his for a moment.

"I know what normally happens. Now shut up. They're attracted to noise." Sherlock countered as he leaned back up. The doors opened and Sherlock walked the dumbfounded John off the elevator.

"Well…" John muttered; not really knowing how to handle what just happened and so choosing to ignore it. For now, at least.

Sherlock looked over the edge just as banging came from the door to the stairs. John swore at the sight of it being beaten to death. "Well, I've survived one fall. Shall we try it again?"

The doctor looked at him with growl on the edge of his voice, "I'm not even going to say what I just wanted to do to you for that comment."

Sherlock chuckled before backing up. He let go of the other's hand in the process and took a flying leap to the adjacent roof. He barely made it before rollinh to safety. Then he came back and offered his arms to John. "Come on, we've got to get to a car below!"

John stared at him for a moment; having never contemplated such a mad act in his life. Even when the two had first met they had run across rooftops but never had to jump across one. Especially with hundreds of zombies alongside sure death from the fall awaiting them below. He backed up- eyes locked with Sherlock's- and ran towards the edge. He jumped across the space but did not quite reach the edge. His heart went into his throat as he began to drop. Sherlock reached out and snatched him mid-fall; using his weight to pull them back onto the roof together.

"That went better than expected." Sherlock muttered as they rolled to a stop with John in his arms. "We'll 'borrow' another car and head to the airport."

He was so relieved John did not argue with him and took the hand offered to help him up the next minute. "The fire escape." John wheezed. He was clearly out of breath as he pointed to the side of the roof that had a small ladder leading off the side of the building. Sherlock nodded quickly and with a swish of his coat was headed for the metal contraption. John followed him over the side and they began to climb slowly down towards the parking lot below. Many of the undead were already milling around and attempting to consume car parts. "Shit.…" John mumbled, "Now what?"

Sherlock held up his gun with a raised eyebrow. "We find a car that is still in working order, then we shoot whomever is near it at the time. Then leave. Elementary, my dear Watson."

John realized the gun he held was his own. "You used my gun of all things? Do you know the sexual implications of that?" He was trying to make light of the situation; even if he was shaking.

Sherlock simply shrugged. "One that I would gladly explore at a later date. If I had known that there would be a 'zombie' outbreak, I would have saved the bullets in my gun." Sherlock muttered and stepped out of their crouching position by a dumpster. "Go for the black sedan."

John immediately went for the car; side-stepping a few "dead" people along the way. The taller man followed while firing at the rare walker who came at John from the side until they reached the car. "Break the window." Sherlock ordered before firing another shot as more from the other buildings started running towards them. John looked around for anything and finally swore. He removed his jumper and used it to protect his arm as he shattered the window with his elbow. Adrenaline made him seem far stronger than he actually was. Sherlock aimed another well-placed shot and glanced back at John. "Done? I don't have infinite ammo here."

"Shut up!" He spat and reached in to the car; looking around to see if any dead were coming up on him. His hand finally found the door lock and he hit it before swinging himself into the passenger seat. In one swift motion that would have been graceful if they were not about to be killed, Sherlock was in the driver's seat. He tossed the gun to John, who caught it. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a screwdriver. He jammed it into the ignition and broke the steering wheel lock. With that, he hit the gas pedal and roared away from the group of undead coming towards them.

Sherlock took a moment to catch his breath and pulled out his phone to glance at the hanger number of his brother's plan. It was only a text but it was enough to hope for. Mycroft had already evacuated most of the people in the city who were still human and was planning an air strike. He read the newest message again: _'Get out, Sherlock. You have a short amount of time left before _  
_London is ground zero. -MH'_

John saw the look on his face and he swallowed nervously. "What?" His throat quickly became dry at the answer.

"We have less than fifteen minutes before we will be killed with everyone else," Sherlock murmured. John's eyes widened as he saw people running in the streets who were bitten but not completely dead yet.

They passed another street when suddenly John leaned over and stomped the brake. "John, what in the Hell do you think you are doing?!" Sherlock exclaimed as John started to get out of the car.

"Look, damn it!" He pointed towards Gregory Lestrade about to be surrounded by the undead. John fired toward one undead who was getting dangerously close. "Greg!" John shouted and Sherlock put the car into neutral to keep it running. The Detective Inspector turned toward them and almost crumbled; glad to see someone still alive. He ran to them- sliding over the hood of a police car blockade the Yard had attempted to set up- going for their vehicle. He threw himself into the back seat and Sherlock took off again soon as he was inside.

Lestrade gasped for breath, "Thank God!" He rubbed a bit of Donovan's blood off his face.

"Are you bitten?" Sherlock snarled at him and John pointed the gun at him.

He instantly raised his hands. "No! Just a few bruises and scratches!"

John quickly lowered the gun. "Sorry, you turn into those things if you get bit... Can't take the chance."

Greg stared at him for a moment. "You're serious?"

Sherlock snorted. "Yes, we'd only joke about that if London wasn't crumbling."

The eldest put his face in his hands. "This is insane."

John shook his head as he spoke. "Agreed. We're going to a plane to get out of here. In less than fifteen minutes this whole place is going to be wiped off the map."

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Thank you for stopping then, Jesus..."

John nodded in understanding. "Just don't make us regret it, Greg." The man returned the gesture and Sherlock spun the wheel to avoid another car that almost hit them. He slammed the gas pedal again and they left the streets of London that were full of the undead in favor of a side road leading to the airport.

"We're going to be close." Sherlock muttered; not stopping to deal with the fence of the airport. They hit it, smashing it to pieces before sliding into hanger fifteen. They rushed from the car to the armed guards standing outside the plane. Mycroft was waiting.

"Good to see you, brother, John… Gregory." He greeted them and Sherlock briefly bowed his head.

"Likewise for once, Mycroft." They shared a brief look before piling into the airplane and starting to take off. There was a horde running toward them from the city.

Greg and Mycroft shared a glance of relief between each other but it was missed by Sherlock and John who were busy giving each other a once over to see if they were whole. The pilot warned of a bumpy ride and they pulled out from the hanger. The plane took off after a few moments and they all sat in a rather awkward silence. "So, what's going to happen to those people that survived?" John  
finally inquired.

Mycroft sighed, "They will be relocated once they have been decontaminated. Most likely to the United States. The rest will be… put out of their misery. There is no way possible that we can let this outbreak spread."

Lestrade blinked, asking the question to himself more than the others around him. "How did this happen…? less than a day.…" He shook his head; rubbing at his temples.

Sherlock interjected, "I believe it was from the same science facility that John and I investigated."

Mycroft paused before agreeing. "Unfortunately, yes. The government didn't learn not to disturb nature the last time."

John sighed and leaned back in his chair as the plane tilted over the ocean. In the distance, London was alight with flames. "I'm glad Mrs. Hudson is in Germany on vacation with Molly.…" He trailed off before looking back at the three men around him. Mycroft gazing out over the city with an almost haunted look in his eyes, Greg looking at him and Sherlock with his hands steepled again in front of his face. "So… it's over?" He asked, feeling like a child who needed reassurance.

"No…. I doubt this will be the last that we see of this." Mycroft muttered

Sherlock nodded slowly, "This indeed, is only the beginning."


End file.
